


A Case Of Discovery

by flawedamythyst



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A policeman discovers Holmes and Watson in a compromising position.</p>
<p>Thanks to SmallHobbit for betaing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Case Of Discovery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Garonne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garonne/gifts).



Holmes will readily tell you that my memory is often vague on details, particularly those pertaining to dates, but the events I intend to relay here are so indelibly seared into my mind that I am able to say, with complete confidence, that it was a Friday evening during the June of 1889. Even if I was not so certain, it would have taken only a few minutes for me to look the information up, for Holmes and I went to see Roméo et Juliette at Covent Garden and saw Nellie Melba perform for the first time.

Holmes was full of enthusiasm as we walked home, swinging his cane as idly as any society dandy and praising her performance to the heavens.

“We have seen true talent tonight, Watson,” he said as we turned into a narrow alley that would take us in the direction of Baker Street. “Make no mistake, she will go on to be one of the great names of opera.”

I was far more interested in watching one of the great names of criminal detection to pay his words much mind. I have never been able to tear my eyes away when he is in such a mood, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm and his sheer joy beaming out as if from a lantern. I felt as if I bathed in its glow.

He glanced at me, no doubt looking for a response to his words, and his expression took on an air of amusement.

“You know, old boy, when you look at me like that it is extremely difficult not to just ravish you where you stand.”

My eyes widened at his statement and I nervously glanced both ways down the alleyway but we were alone, as he must have known before he said anything so risky. We both took a great deal of care to keep the true nature of our relationship from becoming common knowledge. Indeed, it was rare for either of us to even allude to it outside of our rooms, let alone discuss the possibility of ravishment on a public street, no matter how secluded.

However, it had been a long evening celebrating the closure of a successful case and we had drunk deeply of both wine and mirth, which had gone a long way towards suppressing our natural inhibitions.

“I shall make sure I look at you in such a way when we reach home then,” I said, feeling extremely daring.

Holmes's mouth twitched further upwards and he glanced around the alleyway as I had done only moments before, but he almost certainly saw far more than I had.

“This alley is very seldom frequented,” he said, “and there are some admirable shadows just there.” He crowded in close to me, walking me backwards into the spot he had indicated. “There,” he said, leaning in so close that I could feel his breath against my lips. “I think we could go unnoticed here for a moment.”

He kissed me before I could think of a response, and then all words fled from my mind under the skill of his mouth and tongue. Holmes allowed no half-measures in his life, not even in this area, and I was undone completely within minutes, hands tucked underneath his jacket and clutching at the silk of his waistcoat.

He pulled away and I made a noise that I must admit was akin to a whimper. He chuckled, low enough for the sound to rumble through his chest where it was pressed to mine. Embarrassment suffused me.

“Fear not, Watson,” he said. “I find myself just as affected.”

He took one of my hands from where they had loosened their grip on his clothes and lowered it to press against his member, which was hard enough to prove his words. I caressed my fingers along its length, and he shuddered and let his eyes close.

There is very little I enjoy more than seeing Holmes lose his composure in such a manner and knowing that it is my touch that has caused it. I wanted that then, despite the circumstances, and I gripped at him, revelling in the way his mouth fell open as he made a breathy noise and his hips pushed towards me.

“Watson,” he gasped. “You are making me feel very reckless.”

I felt more than reckless. I felt that being able to make a man like Holmes fall apart so easily meant that I was immune from all dangers. I turned us so that he was the one pressed against the wall, then sank to my knees. There are very few things I enjoy more than using my hand on Holmes, but one of them is to use my mouth instead.

As I write this, in the cold light of day and with a sober mind, I find it hard to believe I was ever so stupid as to indulge in such a thing rather than hurry Holmes back to Baker Street where we could lock ourselves away before breaking the law in so flagrant a manner. At the time, all I could think about was how much I wanted to taste Holmes and feel him slide against my tongue.

We never got that far. My fingers were reaching for the opening of Holmes's trousers, one of his hands sliding into my hair and my eyes locked on the breathless anticipation on his face, when the light of a lantern shone on us.

“Oi, what're you- Oh! Mr. Holmes!”

It was a policeman. Worse, it was one we had worked with, although his name escaped me completely in that horrified moment.

I'm not sure how long we remained in that tableau, all three of us frozen with shock. My brain seemed to have lost ability to think, beyond a steadily increasing panic.

Luckily, Holmes's brain moved faster than mine, as it always did. He tugged at my shoulder, pulling me back to my feet. “Good evening, Constable,” he said, and then took off running as if all the hounds of Hell were behind him.

I caught on quickly enough and followed barely a step behind him.

“Stop! Come back!” echoed the voice of the policeman, but neither of us paid any heed.

I have run at his side many times over the years, but none of those occasions were anything like that one. We pelted through London's streets, ducking down all the hidden ways that Holmes knew so well and that I would have been lost in alone. I am sure we must have passed at least some people but I have no recollection of them, only the grim pounding of our feet and the knowledge that we could never truly out-run the danger that was behind us.

When Holmes finally stopped, my breath was burning through my lungs and my leg ached as if I had been shot all over again, but I barely noticed. We were on a busy thoroughfare that I recognised as being some distance from Baker Street, in the opposite direction from where we had been. How far had we run? Holmes hailed a hansom and climbed inside without glancing at me, and I followed him into it with only a little difficulty from my leg.

“Baker Street,” he directed the driver tersely, and we set off.

“Holmes-” I started in a hushed voice, but he shushed me immediately.

“Not now, Watson,” he said, and his voice was as cold as I have ever heard it.

I slumped back in my seat and let despair rush in. The full implications of the incident were finally catching up with me. We had been caught by an officer of the law engaging in what was unmistakably an act of gross indecency. There would be a court case, our names would be dragged through the mud in the press, we would almost certainly go to prison, our friends would shun us, our livelihoods would be ruined. The vision of our future looked bleak.

From Holmes's stone-faced expression, he was indulging in similar thoughts, but he said nothing during the drive. When we arrived at Baker Street and had put a locked door between ourselves and the world, I headed straight for the brandy decanter.

“Do you want-” I started, and was cut off by the slam of Holmes's bedroom door. I looked at it for a moment, then put back one of the two glasses I had automatically reached for, and instead poured myself a double measure. I tossed it back rather quickly before taking myself off to my own room. 

I presumed from Holmes's retreat to his room that he did not think the consequences would begin to rain down on us that night, but that did not completely reassure me. Holmes thought very little of the police, after all. What if he was underestimating them? It was going to be a long and sleepless night, lying awake wondering how quickly a policeman could get a warrant and round up some colleagues for a visit to our address.

****

I descended extremely early the next morning, barely a handful of hours after I had retired, to find Holmes had already gone out, leaving a note on the table.

_Do nothing. Talk to no one. Stay at home._

He had not even signed it. I collapsed into my chair and wondered what on earth he was playing at. Surely we should be discussing the matter and making plans? It seemed to me that the most sensible solution would be to leave London immediately and escape the country. I had no wish to live abroad but anything was better than a jail cell, even making a life in France.

I trusted Holmes far more than I trusted my own brain when it came to seeing a way out of such a situation though, so I spent the morning as he had requested. I told Mrs. Hudson I was not at home to visitors and did my best to concentrate on catching up on my medical reading rather than simply staring blankly at the fire and seeing images of our downfall.

When Holmes finally arrived home, he looked as strained as I felt but did not allow me a moment to ask how he was.

“Good, you're here,” he said. “This is very important, pay close attention. There has not yet been a warrant issued for our arrest, but that may change at any moment. If one is issued, I have arranged for a telegram to be sent here immediately, addressed to you, informing you that your Uncle Bartholomew is gravely ill.”

“I don't have an-” I tried to interrupt, but he just rode over my words.

“That will be your cue to leave. Immediately, Watson, no messing about with packing belongings. Hail a cab, and instruct it to go to Victoria station. Halfway there, stop the cab and get out, walk three streets, and then hail another one. Are you paying attention, Watson? It is vitally important you get these instructions correct.”

“Yes, I am listening,” I said. “Stop the cab, walk three streets, hail another one. Where am I going in that one?”

“Kensington,” said Holmes. “Get it to put you down near the high street, then proceed to the underground station there.”

“The underground?” I questioned. I was not a fan of riding on those overcrowded, dusty trains and to my knowledge, neither was Holmes.

“Yes, yes,” he said. “Obviously. You will need to catch a Metropolitan District train to Wimbledon – Wimbledon, Watson, remember that – where you will alight.”

The way he was speaking to me as if I was an idiot was starting to wear down my patience, especially on top of having been ignored and abandoned since the incident the previous night. Nevertheless, I didn't interrupt and I took care to memorise the details. There was no sense in trying to stop Holmes when he was in full flow.

“There is a tobacconist's across the road from the station entrance. There will be a carriage waiting outside it, driven by a man wearing a red-trimmed cloak. Get in it.”

He came to a halt there. I raised an eyebrow. “And where will he take me?” I asked.

Holmes waved a hand. “That has yet to be decided,” he said. “It will depend which ports the police are watching most closely. The man will be an employee of my brother's, charged with getting you out of the country as safely and speedily as possible.”

“Out of the country?!” I repeated. “And where then? And where will you be? Will I meet you later?”

“Of course out of the country,” said Holmes. “You can't think there will be any sense in staying once a warrant is issued. A trial will be all too quick, under the circumstances. As for where you go, it doesn't particularly matter. Paris is traditional, I hear.”

“You will find me there?” I persisted.

Holmes let out a long sigh. “You can't possibly think it would be a good idea for us to meet up?” he said. “You will still have your medical skills, I am sure you can find a way to make a living, even though your French is atrocious.”

I gaped at him. “Are you saying we would not see each other again?”

Holmes scowled. “I am saying precisely that,” he said. “Don't make me repeat myself, you know I abhor it, Watson.”

Never to see Holmes again. I couldn't imagine it even if I were still in the familiar surrounds of London, but to be stranded alone in a foreign country would be unbearable.

“I am doing my best to see that this train of events does not come to pass,” said Holmes. “That we have not yet been arrested is a considerable point in our favour. I have just come from Scotland Yard, where-”

“You went to Scotland Yard?!” I exclaimed. “Are you insane, Holmes? Did you wish to make it as easy as possible for them?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” said Holmes. “Naturally, I ascertained first that they would not immediately clap me in irons. Indeed, I did not even receive any suspicious looks, which says that our man last night – Constable Mason – has yet to report the incident, or even mention it to his colleagues. There may be several reasons for that – he was on his way home, and it may merely be that he preferred a night's rest before bringing about our ruin. I have not been able to track him down yet to ask him but when I do, I am sure that I shall find some way to persuade him to continue to keep quiet. That is the best case scenario.”

“Right,” I said. “And what can I do?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Stay here and watch for that telegram. Remember my instructions and follow them precisely if needs be.”

He left again without waiting for me to reply, clattering down the stairs two at a time. I heard Mrs. Hudson complain and a shouted apology as Holmes departed again.

I collapsed into my chair, my mind and emotions in a whirl. How dare the man not include me in his actions when it was so important to both of us? How dare he bid me wait at home, like a dutiful wife?

Except that 'wife' implied a connection we had never truly had, despite all my wishing. That he apparently saw no need for us to meet again if we were forced to leave the country said too much about how he regarded our relations. It said even more that we had been engaging in them for nearly two years now, and I had heard no word of love or affection from him that would not be just as appropriate between two friends. My heart was entirely his, and had been since long before we engaged in such activities, but all I had ever been to him was a slake for his lust, conveniently taking the form of a friendly flatmate.

I suppose I had known that all along, or I would have found some way to verbalise my feelings to him, but the harshness of his dealings with me that day made it all too clear. Even if we did survive this storm unscathed, I thought, I should make plans to put some distance between us. It would wrench my heart, but perhaps it was time to establish that practice I had occasionally idly dreamed of.

****

I spent several more hours in a severe state of anxiety, expecting to hear a pounding on the door and heavy boots up the stairs at any moment. Holmes might have said that I would be warned in advance, but I could not entirely trust that. Too many things could go wrong with a telegram.

Mrs. Hudson brought me lunch not long after he’d left, which I barely picked at. She tutted as she took it away, saying that she had enough problems with one lodger who refused to eat sensibly. I wondered if I should inform her that there was a chance she would have neither lodger after the events of today had played themselves out, but kept my peace. No sense in worrying her; there was always a hope that Holmes would find some way to silence Mason.

When feet did finally ascend the seventeen stairs to our rooms, it was neither Holmes, nor an army of officers come to drag me away, nor even Mrs. Hudson with the dreaded telegram. It was Constable Mason, alone.

To say I was taken aback would be an understatement. I think I actually staggered back a step in surprise and no small surge of fear. Despite the lack of accompanying officers, it was still instinct for me to assume I was about to be arrested.

“Doctor Watson,” he said.

“Holmes is looking for you,” I said, somewhat dumbly, but I could not think of much else to say.

He ducked his head. “Yes, I heard. My sister said he'd been by. I've been out walking all day. Been trying to work out what to do.”

I stared at him. “You have not yet decided?” I asked. This was it – our chance to prevent downfall – and Holmes and his ability to talk any man around to his way of thinking were not here.

“No,” said Mason. “Well, not entirely. It's not- Doctor Watson, do you want to sit down? You look a bit peaky.”

I felt more than a bit peaky, but I rallied at his words and found my strength. I was not going to quiver before this man. “I am fine,” I said.

“Very well then,” he said. “Right. I suppose I should start by telling you that I believe in the law, sir, and that all men should be bound by it. I don't let myself be swayed by money or rank.”

“I see,” I said. Then it was unlikely he was about to attempt to blackmail us. “I suppose the question, then, is why we are not already locked away?”

He hesitated and took a step or two further into the room, although he still kept well back from my position near the fireplace. “Well, perhaps I should have said I believe in justice, rather than the law,” he said. “I've been on the edges of a couple of Mr. Holmes's cases, but I've heard stories of far more, and I know he believes that sometimes the law must be bent for justice to prevail. I'm of the same mind. A small evil is permissible if it will lead to a greater good. I think everyone would agree that Mr. Holmes can achieve a far greater good if he's free to keep catching criminals than if he's locked away in Pentonville.”

That was the best statement I had ever heard. Hope surged in my chest. “That is extremely true,” I said. “Holmes has done a great deal to make this city a better place.”

Mason nodded his head, but his expression was still torn with indecision. “But then, could I really let it go so easily? It is a crime after all, sir, and immoral besides. It sickens me just to think of it, and that's God's own truth.”

“Then don't think of it,” I said. “Put it out of your mind. Pretend you saw nothing, and we will do the same.”

He shook his head, looking agitated. “I couldn't do that. Just standing here, it's all I can think of. The sin of it, sir, it's just- Well, I can't expect you to understand. You're embroiled in it.”

I did not know how to respond to that. I had never thought of what Holmes and I did as a sin, if only because no merciful God could send me this much love for another person and expect me to deny it. There was no way to explain that to Mason, however, even if I had wanted to.

“And that was another thing that's been nagging at me,” added Mason, clasping his hands together and staring at the carpet rather than me. “And why I'm here now, to see you. It's- well. Last night was dark and shocking, and I didn't see all the details, but you were- that is to say, it seemed as if he had you in, uh, a submissive position.”

I felt my eyes widen. Did this man honestly wish to discuss the details of what he had seen? Of who took which roles? The truth was that we had no fixed routine and merely took whichever part seemed best at the time. Moreover, there is very little that is submissive about the position I had been in – you can very rarely have more power over a man than you can with your mouth on his most intimate parts.

“I just wanted to be sure that Mr. Holmes was not coercing or, or, harming you in some way,” continued Mason, speaking extremely quickly. “If he was, then I would have to report it. I couldn't stand by and say nothing about that, no matter how much good he does the rest of the time.”

I did not know whether to be touched at the concern, or infuriated. That anyone could think I would just allow that kind of abuse was a blow to both my dignity and my perception of how others saw me.

“I can assure you that Holmes would never take any liberties that I had not invited him to,” I said, perhaps a little stiffly.

Mason nodded several times. “Right, fine,” he said. “I just had to be certain, sir, I'm sure you understand.”

“Indeed,” I said. “What, then, are you proposing to do now? Neither Holmes, nor I, are harming anyone with our actions, and as you have already mentioned, he does a great deal of good with his freedom. I should also like to add that the incident you were privy to was far from ordinary for us. We have always been extremely discreet in the past. Given all these factors, it would seem that letting the incident pass without consequences would be for the best.”

Mason was clearly still indecisive. “It is still very wrong,” he said. “I can't – how can you do it? A respectable man like you? Can you not find a woman who pleases you?”

I let out a very long breath, endeavouring to keep my temper. Luckily, I was kept from finding a diplomatic reply by the sound of the door shutting below and then footsteps dashing up the stairs.

Holmes burst in, already talking. “The man is a damned wraith, Watson, I cannot find-” He cut himself off and fixed his gaze on Mason.

There was an extremely tense moment when I thought he was going to attack the man, and then he abruptly relaxed. “Of course I would find you here,” he said. “I suppose you have come for money? Blackmail can be the only reason you would hold off on informing your superiors for so long.”

Mason puffed up with indignation. “Just because you are morally bankrupt, sir, does not mean that everyone is.”

Holmes's face twitched in a way that I recognised as a prelude to some scathing comment, and I hastily stepped in. “Holmes, calm yourself. He is here to see this matter sorted out in such a way as to agree with his conscience.”

“His conscience,” repeated Holmes, with no little disgust. I glared at him, willing him not to make things worse, and he sighed and then plastered on an insincere smile. “How kind of you, Constable Mason. Perhaps I can interest you in a drink?”

“No, thank you,” said Mason, taking a careful sideways step towards the door. “I merely wished to ask a few questions, before I decided what I should do.”

“It is important to gather all the data before choosing a course of action,” agreed Holmes. He spread his hands. “Well, I am at your disposal. Ask away.”

“I have already asked them,” said Mason. “It was not you I wished to speak to.”

Holmes frowned and glanced over at me, and then a flash of anger crossed his face. “You wondered if I might be forcing Watson in some way,” he said.

Mason looked surprised, but I was too used to Holmes knowing such things to do more than wonder what in my expression had given that away.

“I can assure you that such a thing would be beyond repugnant to me,” said Holmes stiffly. “Even if it were not, Watson is more than capable of delivering a good thrashing. I suppose I cannot fault you for the thought, though. After all, everyone knows that I am an eccentric with some extremely odd habits. Watson, on the other hand, is an extremely respectable doctor – putting aside whatever he might have got up to in his Army days, of course.”

I glared at him. “You know full well that-”

“Yes, yes,” he said. “My point precisely. An entire camp full of athletic young soldiers, and you were not tempted once. Live a few years with a queer Bohemian with unhealthy interests, however, and look how you have fallen - caught engaging in lewd activities in the streets.”

Mason's eyes were darting between us, looking as nervous as if we were threatening to indulge in such activities right in front of us. “Now, see here,” he said. “I do not wish to hear about such things.”

“You may leave at any time,” Holmes reminded him. “The door is not locked.”

“No,” I said quickly. “Constable, please. I apologise for Holmes. I am sure you understand how difficult this situation is for us, especially as we have had a hard few days of it, tracking down the culprits in the Stewart-Howe case.” 

I thought that reminding him of how recently Holmes had dedicated himself to the cause of justice might not go amiss and I was not wrong. Mason let out a breath and turned back towards me.

“Doctor Watson,” he said. “I know you understand my concerns in this matter-”

“Concerns?” interrupted Holmes. “What concern could you have? We are, both of us, more than content with the situation – no cause for concern there. Besides yourself, no one else knows of it, so there is no cause for concern there either.”

“It is immoral,” said Mason with stubbornness.

“Oh, immoral,” said Holmes dismissively. “A great deal is immoral. I am sure, as a policeman, you have seen it all – children ignored and left to starve so that they have no choice but to turn to crime and vice, women treated shamefully by husbands, fathers, brothers - men who should only be seeking to protect them. How much of that immorality have you sought to prevent?”

Mason looked flustered, and not a little angry. “I have done what I can. There's not much one man can do in such cases, sir,” he said. “There are always pauper children and abused women, more than anyone can help.”

“Yes,” agreed Holmes. “And there are also always men engaging in what society deems to be inappropriate acts. I ask you, which do you think it is more important to prevent?”

“You are trying to trap me,” snapped Mason. “Do not presume to lecture me on morals, when I know you to be lacking in them yourself. I do not see how the existence of hungry children gives you the right to break the law.”

“It does not,” agreed Holmes. “No man has the right to break the law. What he does have is the _moral_ imperative to decide which laws are worth enforcing. You must ask yourself if a harmless dalliance between old friends is worth the cost of a court case, a prison term, and the loss two men's reputations.”

“And those two men's absence from the life of the city,” I added, thinking of Mason's words earlier. “Who knows what crimes Holmes will solve over the rest of his life? What murderers will walk free to kill again if he is not there to catch them? Last year, he was even commissioned to resolve a matter by an important member of our Government. He may yet be destined to play a more significant role in the maintenance of our country.” I neglected to mention that the member of our Government was Holmes's brother, and Mason looked suitably impressed.

Holmes, on the other hand, looked almost flabbergasted for the briefest of moments, before his expression cleared, and he added, “And Watson, of course, is a doctor. I think we can agree that there is nothing but good in such a profession, but what use would he be locked away? He could hardly heal the sick from a prison cell.”

I thought that was laying it on a bit thick, but Mason looked convinced.

“That is true,” he said, looking at me. “I had not considered that.” His face twisted with indecision. “Oh, this is too hard a conundrum for me. I wish that I could agree that such things weigh more than the other, and yet, I cannot put aside the knowledge that you are corrupt so easily. I look around this room, and I can't help but wonder what depravities it has seen. How can I stay silent on this when merely seeing you reminds me of it? I shall go mad with it beating at the inside of my skull!”

He looked so genuinely distraught over the matter that I could not help but feel sorry for him. Reconciling what we deem to be right with what society has taught us to be wrong is never easy.

“Well, there is an easy remedy for that,” said Holmes. “You need not see us at all. There are plenty of opportunities for a London man to move to one of the provincial forces, and I am known well enough in several places to be able to put in a good word for you. I daresay you could find yourself a position that meant you would never have to cross our paths again, and we could all forget this incident ever occurred. You could probably get a promotion as well – how does Sergeant Mason sound to you?”

Mason frowned. “Are you attempting to bribe me?” he asked.

“Not at all,” said Holmes. “I am merely providing a solution. I am sure you can understand that Watson and I would find it easier to not be confronted by your presence at a crime scene in the future. We are as eager to forget this as you are.” He stood and crossed to the mantelpiece, pulling his pocket knife out of his correspondence and flicking through it. “Here. A letter from Inspector Nevin thanking me for my assistance in solving the taxidermist murders case, and offering me any help he can provide in return. How would you feel about a move to Brighton? I am sure the seaside air would agree with you.”

“I am not going to ignore a crime in order to better my career,” said Mason.

“Of course not,” said Holmes. “We have already discussed this. You are going to ignore a crime because it is the right thing to do. Such a move would only be to help ameliorate the consequences of that choice. Brighton is a lovely town, you know, and it is easy enough to visit London on the railways.”

Mason risked moving further into the room in order to sink down into the nearest chair and put his head in his hands. “This is too much for me,” he said. “I am not built for such choices.”

“You are doing admirably,” said Holmes. I glanced at him, but there was no trace of insincerity on his face. He shuffled through more of his letters. “Or perhaps Manchester, if Brighton doesn't suit. Inspector Farnby is a good man, and still very grateful that we got Samuel Barnaby last year. Or perhaps you'd prefer the countryside? There is a village in Berkshire that-”

“No,” interrupted Mason, lifting his head. “Not the countryside. I'm not made for that life.”

A look of satisfaction crossed Holmes's face, and I knew as well as he did that we had won this one. “Brighton or Manchester, then?” he asked.

Mason hesitated for what seemed a very long time, then said, in a hoarse voice, “Brighton, then.” His eyes darted to me. “The seaside would be the best place to raise children, wouldn't it, Doctor?”

I felt my eyes go wide, but quickly nodded. “Of course,” I said. “It creates an extremely healthy atmosphere.”

“Ah,” said Holmes, “and a Sergeant's wage would be enough to support a wife on.”

Mason nodded. “My Mary is prepared to wait,” he said. “She's patient, and she loves me, but-”

“There is no need to wait,” said Holmes, pulling out the letter from Inspector Nevin and putting it on his desk before stabbing the rest into the mantelpiece again. “I shall send a letter of recommendation, and you shall be married and in Brighton by the end of the Summer, and no doubt producing children by the end of the next.”

Mason straightened at the thought, looking pleased, and I let out a silent sigh that we had finally won him over. “Very well, then,” he said. “Then we can all put this matter behind us.” He stood up, and I realised, with relief, that we would soon be rid of him.

“We would greatly appreciate that,” said Holmes. “You have not mentioned a word of it to any other soul, have you? Not even your Mary?”

Mason started. “How could I talk about this kind of vile filth with her?” he asked, then shook his head. “No, I could not mention this to another soul, not until I knew what I should do. Hearing other's opinions only complicates matters, I have found.”

Holmes nodded. “Very wise,” he said. “It would be better if you continue to keep silent, of course.”

Mason nodded, and then hesitated. “I hope that I have made the right choice.”

“Of course you have,” I said quickly, before he could sink back into indecision.

“I do not think your opinion is valid in this case,” he said.

“In this sort of case, no one's but your own is,” said Holmes.

“And God's,” added Mason.

Holmes made no comment about that, and Mason finally left. We were both silent and still for a minute, listening as his footsteps descended our stairs and then passed out of the front door, into the street. I let out a long exhale of relief once the door had been shut behind him.

Holmes locked our sitting room door, then crossed to collapse into his chair. “Good lord, Watson,” he said. “I thought the man should never make up his mind. Do you think it is too early for brandy?”

I stood and made my way to the drinks cabinet. “One thing the Army taught me is that, on days such as today, it is never too early for brandy,” I said, pouring us both generous measures and handing one to Holmes before returning to my own chair.

He raised his glass to me. “To a bullet dodged,” he said, and then took a large gulp. He had seemed so composed during the larger part of the interview with Mason, and only now did I realise how stressed he had been. I felt rather better to know that I was not the only one shaken from how close we had come to complete ruin.

We sat in silence for a while, both too occupied with our thoughts for conversation. I could not say what Holmes was contemplating, but my mind was stuck fast on how this had come to pass in the first place, and how we might prevent a similar occurrence coming about in the future. Some distance between us was the most logical choice, and so the thought of taking up a practice still seemed the most practical solution, no matter what a wrench the thought of being apart from Holmes gave me. He had not seemed to have any qualms about suggesting we should spend the rest of our lives without seeing each other so, as usual, all the emotions were on my side. Our safety – Holmes's safety, above all - was more important than one man's wish that a casual dalliance with a friend might mean more.

“I should move out,” I said, once I had imbibed enough brandy to give me courage. Holmes startled from his thoughts and looked at me, but I continued without waiting for his response. “I have enough capital and reputation now to start my own practice, and I'm sure you agree that some distance between us would be beneficial in preventing-”

“No,” said Holmes, breaking into my speech. “I cannot agree that distance between us would ever be beneficial.”

I blinked. I had not foreseen Holmes objecting to this plan – indeed, I had been bracing myself for his immediate agreement and the sense of rejection that such would cause in me. “Holmes, this incident-”

“Was a one-off,” said Holmes, interrupting me again. “I cannot think of another occasion when we have been so careless – certainly not one where you have offered to fellate me in public. There is no need to change our habits, merely to stick more firmly to the boundaries we have already put in place. We need only save our embraces for when there is a locked door between us and any nosey constables who might be in the area.”

I set down my glass rather firmly on the table next to my chair. “Holmes,” I said with some exasperation at having my words over-ridden as if they had no weight. “This is important. We cannot risk this happening again, moreover, we cannot risk any hint of this becoming attached to our reputations. You said earlier that it would be better if we never saw each other again rather than become societal pariahs. Now that the danger has passed, would it not be sensible to put into practice at least some measure of prudence in our interactions? I am not saying we should cease our friendship, or that I would not still assist you on any cases that you require me for. It just seems that if I had a separate residence, and my own business, there would be less chance of any rumours spreading.”

“Rumours,” said Holmes scornfully. “I have no interest in what rumours may spread.”

“You will if they cause fewer clients to come to your door,” I pointed out. We both knew how essential it was that Holmes should have a steady flow of cases to challenge his mind with. Anything that might hinder that, and leave him bored and listless, was to be avoided at all costs. “Holmes, you have established yourself enough now to be able to afford the rent on your own. There is no need for me to stay.”

“Except that we both wish for you to do so,” said Holmes. “No, Watson, I understand what you intend by this, but it is not to be. Your presence here – as a resident and not just a guest – is far too important to me to be given up so easily.”

I could not hold in snort at that. “And yet, this morning you were planning that we should flee London separately, and never see each other again,” I said, not without bitterness.

“In order to protect you,” snapped Holmes.

“And this would be to protect you,” I retorted.

Holmes shook his head. “The two cases are not in the least bit similar,” he said. “There is no immediate threat now, as there was this morning.” He looked at me from under a concerned brow for a long moment, while I silently fumed that he was being so dismissive of my plan. 

Eventually, he sighed and set his own glass aside in order to sit forward, resting the tips of his fingers together. “Listen, Watson. If arrest warrants had been issued this morning, it would have signalled the end of any shred of reputation I have ever had. No one would be prepared to believe anything but the worst of me, not once details of my private life were aired before all and sundry.” He gestured around the room, taking in the mess, the case containing his cocaine needle and the many other strange and outlandish things in the room, none of which belonged to me. “Even without the issue of my preference for men, I am a strange man. I freely admit it. Viewed by an unforgiving public, my habits would easily take on a sinister air, and any interviews with those who have a casual acquaintance with me would only serve to strengthen that. It would be extremely easy for the media to paint me as the worst kind of pervert, and there would be no recovery for me from that. I would have to move to the furthest corner of the globe, far away from the reach of society's opinions.”

I shuddered at such a bleak picture, but could not deny the truth of it. I remembered Stamford's words the day he introduced me to Holmes. _As far as I know he is a decent fellow enough,_ he'd said, but still he had been hesitant to introduce us. Cold-blooded, he had called him, and worried that he took the spirit of scientific enquiry to excess. And that had been from a man who knew nothing specifically bad about him. The tide of popular opinion would find it very easy to flow against Holmes once it had the provocation of knowing that he indulged in activities that were viewed as depraved and immoral.

“You, on the other hand, are a far more respectable person,” continued Holmes. “I doubt there is a single person who has met you who would not say that you were a proper, upstanding kind of fellow. In the case of this being known about you, society would be hard-pressed to find other improprieties to hold against you. It seemed to me that if my reputation was beyond saving, it would not matter if I besmirched it a little more in an effort to save yours.”

I stared at him. “What did you have planned?”

He shrugged dismissively. “It is a matter of record that when you moved in here, you were weak both physically and mentally from your wartime ordeals. It would not be hard to circulate the idea that I had taken advantage of that, and pressured you into an affair that was against your nature.”

“No,” I said involuntarily, horrified at just the idea of it.

“That would have gone a long way to saving at least some part of your reputation,” said Holmes. “You would have had to move abroad, of course, but there was no reason that you could not have set yourself up in Paris or wherever, and suffered no worse than a few months of muttering, before it began to blow over that you had been taken advantage of by a blackguard like me.”

“Meanwhile, you would have been painted as the very worst kind of man,” I said. “Good God, Holmes!”

“You see the necessity that we never meet again, under those circumstances?” said Holmes. “If I was still part of your life, no one would believe that story, and your reputation would never have been given a chance to be rebuilt.”

I shook my head. “I would not have stood for it. I would have told all and sundry that it was not so – I went into this with my eyes open, Holmes. I am an equal partner in it.”

“Yes,” agreed Holmes. “And how you would have been pitied. That poor doctor, so thoroughly taken advantage of by that devious and despicable man that he believed himself at fault.”

I stood, unable to stand it any longer. I was vibrating, although I was not sure if it was with anger, or horror at how close we had come to such a situation. “Holmes, you must promise never to do such a thing. I do not care what straits we are in, we will share them equally. The blame falls on us both.”

“It was the scenario with the best outcome,” said Holmes. “Better that one of us escape some measure of condemnation than that both of us should be-”

“No!” I interrupted, and stepped towards his chair, pushing down the desire to shake the man. “That will never be the best outcome. I could not stand to maintain any modicum of dignity at your expense.”

Holmes regarded me for a long moment, then nodded. “You shall have to stay living here, then,” he said, sitting back in his chair again in order to look up at me.

“What?” I asked, caught by the sudden change in the direction of the conversation.

“That a respectable doctor such as yourself is so closely associated with me has gone a long way to convince people that, despite my odd habits, I am a reputable man. Just last month I overheard Mrs. Martingale tell Lady Hastings 'he's a little bizarre, but Doctor Watson would not be so close to him if there was any bad in him.' So, you see, it could only damage my reputation if you distanced yourself from me.” He did a passable imitation of Mrs. Martingale as he said her words, which would have made me smile under other circumstances, but I was too caught up in the deeply earnest look in his eyes.

I had no idea what to do, or even what to think. My mind was a whirl of thoughts. I could not stop thinking that moving out was still the best way to protect Holmes, but I hadn't even stopped to consider that Holmes might seek to protect me with an equal fervour. What course of action should I take? I could not think. I let out a sigh, and moved to step back to my chair so that I might collapse into it. His arm darted out, as quick as a snake, and he caught my wrist. 

“Not to mention,” he added, and then paused as if nervous before continuing. “Watson, not to mention how much I should miss you, if you were not here.”

I swallowed. “We would still see each other,” I said. “Our friendship-”

He hissed with frustration. “Friendship!” he repeated. “Watson, we both know that the word does not begin to cover what is between us. What kind of friends find themselves in the position we were in when Constable Mason found us?”

I could not speak. This was the first sign Holmes had ever given that he considered friendship the wrong word for us.

He frowned, and then stood, still holding tightly to my wrist. “You must have known that,” he said. “I have seen the signs in you, surely you must have seen them in me?”

I found my voice. “I am not you,” I reminded him, and it came out hoarse. “I am not nearly as talented at observing details. Not when there has been no sign that I should be looking for them.”

He gaped at me. There is no other word for it – he was as completely shocked as I have ever seen him. “Watson,” he said in an exasperated voice. “Last night I forgot myself so far as to engage in a passionate embrace with you in an alleyway! You cannot imagine I would do that with just anyone, or that mere lust would be enough to make me act in such a reckless manner?”

I could not answer that. I merely stared at him until he made a growl of frustration, and pulled me into a kiss. I melted into his embrace.

“You idiot,” he said, once he had let me go. “Of course I feel a stronger affection for you. It is- That is, you are-” He cut himself off, and scowled. “I do not have the words for it, Watson,” he said. “I am not a man to whom such things come easily – I thought you knew that. I cannot find ways to tell you what you are to me.”

“Then show me,” I whispered. “Show me, and I promise I shall pay close attention this time.”

“You had better,” said Holmes, but he took me at my word. He took me to his bedroom, and very few other words of import were said aloud for a few hours, although he managed to communicate a great deal to me in other ways, once I had realised how to listen for it.

****

We were back in the living room, fully-dressed and endeavouring to appear as if we had not moved from our respective chairs all afternoon when Mrs. Hudson and the maid brought up dinner, of course. Still, beneath the layers of clothing that I wore, it seemed I could still feel all the places where Holmes had pressed a reverential kiss, or whispered a word into my skin that I could not make out, or glided his fingers over the scars that life had left on me.

He had said that I should have been able to read the signs long before now, and I had realised that none of the small acts of tenderness and affection were new between us. He had made all those moves before, albeit not all at once like that, and I had merely taken them for the actions of a man caught up in the moment. That seemed like a foolish idea now that I had been shown the truth of it, but I have never claimed to be quick on the uptake. It takes cleverer men to show me the path of enlightenment.

It was with that thought that I sat in my chair after dinner, nursing a glass of brandy and wondering how early we would be able to retire to bed again without raising anyone's suspicions.

“Another hour at least, I'm afraid,” said Holmes without looking up from the newspaper he was scrutinising. “Most likely closer to two.”

I looked at his profile as he concentrated on the article, noting how intent on it he seemed and yet he had still been able to deduce precisely what I had been thinking.

“It was not hard, Watson,” he murmured, turning a page and still not glancing at me. “The same thought is weighing on me.”

The wave of affection that surged through me was both familiar in its strength, and wholly new in that it was no longer tinged with the sorrow of it being unrequited. I wasn't the only one feeling this, as Holmes had ably demonstrated to me earlier.

It was then that I had realised that I still had not expressed it myself. I was so used to keeping the words inside, bottled up, that I had not thought to take the opportunity of the privacy of Holmes's bed to breath them into his ear. I wondered then at whose feet the blame for our misunderstanding over the nature of our relationship should be laid; the man who thought words were unnecessary, or the man who knew their import, but refused to say them out of fear of rejection?

I glanced at the door, checking that it was shut. “Holmes,” I said, and received a hum of acknowledgement, although he still did not look up.

“Holmes,” I said again, gripping my glass tighter. “You said earlier that you have read the signs in me.”

It took him a moment to place the context, and then he finally raised his eyes to mine. “Indeed,” he said. “You are not a man who can easily hide his emotions. Your face is far too expressive.”

I nodded, but I was not finished. I was determined to put words to whatever Holmes might have read, and be sure once and for all that we were on the same page. It just needed a moment to pluck up the courage to do so first.

“Watson?” asked Holmes with a frown.

I took a breath. “You know, then, that I love you,” I said, and was pleased with how steady my voice was.

His eyes widened and he just stared at me for a moment, before remembering to do his own check on the door. “Yes,” he said when his attention had turned back to me. “Yes, I had deduced it.” His voice was a great deal less steady than usual though, and I thought that perhaps hearing the words aloud had affected him differently from observing a thousand tiny details of my behaviour and putting them together into a deduction. Certainly, saying them had felt very different from leaving it as an unspoken truth.

I nodded several times. “Good,” I said. “Good. I am glad.” I looked down at the glass in my hand, noting how unsteady my grip had become.

“I am, too,” said Holmes, his voice still quiet. “Extremely glad. I do- I do very much appreciate it. And wonder at it a little.”

“What's to wonder about?” I asked. “You know I consider you the best man I have known. Who else would I love?”

His face softened into a small smile. “That is true,” he agreed. “And I-” he stopped, and his mouth twisted before he took a breath. “I think the same of you, of course.”

I beamed. There can be no other word for it. The expression on my face must have been like that of a small boy who has been presented with a toy train. I have never disagreed with Holmes that my face is far too expressive.

He laughed a little, both at me and with joy, I think, and then turned back to his newspaper. “Two hours,” he reminded me. “Do find something to occupy yourself with other than watching me, or they shall pass extremely slowly for us both. I have told you before that it is very difficult not to ravish you when you look at me like that.”

I wiped the look from my face, although I could not keep a smile from hanging around my lips as I took up my book. I was more than content to spend two hours in silent company with Holmes, if it meant we could retire together after it without fear of discovery. When I compared our current situation with where we could have been – either fleeing the country, destined never to see each other again or, worse, remanded in custody and facing a prison sentence – then taking a few precautions was hardly any price to pay at all.

Ever since that night, we have been twice as vigilant about maintaining our secret. Never have we faced a situation like that again, nor even caused a raised eyebrow or moment of whispered gossip, to my knowledge. And when the door is locked and the curtains tightly shut, Holmes takes twice as many pains as before to give me adequate signs of his affection and I repay him with the words, whispered close to his ear or breathed out against his skin. It is a situation we are both well contented with.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Bricks o' the 'Might 'Ave Been'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/868780) by [tweedisgood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tweedisgood/pseuds/tweedisgood)




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